Gemotions

"Oh, no," Clara breathed, the words escaping her like a choked sob. The air seemed to have thickened, making it hard to breathe. The dogwood, her dogwood, a vibrant splash of pink blossoms every spring, was gone.

Her jaw dropped, hanging slack. She felt a peculiar, unsettling lightness, as if her very bones were about to detach and float away. She had envisioned the tree flourishing forever, a silent guardian of her childhood home.

Clara circled the stump, her hand outstretched, as if to touch the wound. A wave of dizziness rolled over her. She gripped her own arm, trying to ground herself, to anchor herself in the reality that now faced her.